I haven’t done any book reviews and I’m not going to today. As a matter of fact, I haven’t even read this book. For all I know, it could be the creme de la creme of romance tales. But my God people, look at this cover!

Okay, so you have your prototypical romance cover. The strong male with the bulging biceps and unfortunate hairstyle, the swooning female with the long neck, the heaving chest, the three hands …

Wait … what? Three hands?

One on the ground, one resting on her leg, one holding his hand.

You have to wonder, how many people reviewed this illustration before it was selected as the book cover? And how long did it take for it to be noticed?

I don’t know about you, but these are the sorts of things I really enjoy.

You may remember my post from last Saturday. I gave a writing prompt involving a cast off pair of undies and challenged you all to write a little story about it.

Many people visited the post, many clicked on the picture for a close-up of the undies, and many clicked on my “contact me” page, as if they were considering submitting a tale. (Can you tell I’m addicted to my stats page?)

Alas, no tale was submitted. This leads me to believe one of four things happened:

Diane over at Ladies Who Lunch Reviews had jury duty a while back and commented on it here. Which led me to comment on my jury experience, which led us to create a wild notion of posting about our experiences at the same time!

Whoa!

Just what kind of crazy shenanigans are these bloggers up to? The mind reels!

You’ll also note I’m posting on a Monday rather than my usual Wednesday. So if you feel all discombobulated right now, that’s why. (I love that word, discombobulated. I’d use it more often, except I hate feeling discombobulated. I only like the word. not the experience.)

Anyway, I shall now conjure up for you my unpleasant memory of when I served on a jury with idiots. But true to the spirit of this blog, I’m going to give you helpful tips as well, so you can avoid ever having to serve on a jury with idiots yourself.

I know I’ve told you before about the park near our house where Dog and I like to walk. Truthfully, as far as parks go, it’s not much to brag about. But it’s serviceable and allows Dog a good run.

It’s also a nice place to walk if I need a bit of inspiration. Case in point, what I saw this week:

Alright, so what’s the story here? What causes a person to throw their underwear up in a tree? And before you immediately leap to something scandalous, remember this is a park within easy view of a major city street. (Also, this is a G-rated blog. Well, most of the time.)

On the other side of the brick wall are a number of thorny, desert plants and a sidewalk about eight feet away. So, pretty sure the underwear disposal happened on this side of the fence.

Also, you can’t tell from the photo, but the underwear is covered with little peace symbols. I think that should somehow play a part in the story.

I took a picture of the park rules, to give you a few guidelines. You’ll note that while we must keep Dog on a leash, there is not a rule against nudity.

For a bit of fun — email me your submission and the selected story will be highlighted on Feeding on Folly next Wednesday (Nov. 18). Added challenge: the story must be 500 words or less.

Deadline for submission: Tuesday, Nov. 17 at 8 p.m. MST.

The best part of this is that it will give me a chance to test my brand new Contact page — see it there? Way up on the menu bar? Click there to submit your story.

Given the fact that we are nearly full throttle into the holiday season, it occurred to me some of you might start feeling just a wee bit stressed about all the activities and projects that sneak up on us this time of year.

Well, stress no longer! We here at Feeding on Folly have your best interests at heart — and honestly, you couldn’t have found a better place to find help. With all due respect, I am the Queen, King, and All Royal Subjects of the Land of Organization.

This is because, dear friends, I have a vast amount of experience with making To-Do Lists. After all, I started writing them at a very young age. Yet even then I showed remarkable astuteness with how they should be done. I wasn’t even aware of how astute I was, but I’m telling you, I astuted early in life. I was practically bathing in astutement.

Recently I volunteered at a community concert thing-a-ma-jig. Lest you imagine that makes me a caring, noble creature, I did it because it got me a free ticket to the thing-a-ma-jig.

They asked me to usher, which just goes to show how little they knew me. Somehow I thought I’d be alone in a ticket booth, or maybe asked to count money (which between you and me, I really like to do). As it was, my main job was standing at a door and tearing tickets in half.

It’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it.

With me was a little-old-lady named Lorraine. She stood about four feet tall and I’m guessing weighed about 80 pounds. Lorraine’s job was handing out the programs. She also smiled constantly, greeted each patron and chatted. A lot. Lorraine was chatty.

I don’t know about you, but when I meet a really chatty person — such as Lorraine — I assume they’re not the brightest bulb in the socket. (It’s a prejudice of mine, I know.) Turns out Lorraine had been a concert organist, holds a doctorate in Music Performance, played with the Michigan Symphony and taught at Arizona State.

She contracted polio as an infant and was in an iron lung for … um, a long time. I don’t remember the specifics. She also went through two bouts of cancer and is a firm believer in the medicinal value of lemon peels.

I think if I were a psychologist, I would make a study of extroverts. Of course, the tricky thing would be to find a way to study them where they didn’t rush over to me, ask me how I was doing, perform a song and dance for me, and proceed to introduce me to every blame person in the nearby vicinity who they only just met a short while ago but are now their life-long friends.

I’ve decided I have to reread The Great Gatsby, because I got to talking to someone recently about a scene in the book, then got to thinking it may not have been a scene from that book. It may have been another book, but I think it’s that book, only I’m not sure. Which is really annoying, you know?

So now I have to reread the book to see if I was right, which I really hope I am because if I’m not, I’m going to have to reread every flippin’ book I’ve ever read.

Which now that I think about it, isn’t such a bad idea.

Anyhow, the scene is in a restaurant or cafe and Gatsby (I think) tells the others to watch all the other men in the place, as he will be the only one who does not touch his face, adjust his clothing, etc., indicating he alone has acquired true poise.

It sure sounds like something Gatsby would do, doesn’t it? It’s also a good explanation for why he didn’t have any friends. I mean, you pull something like that the next time you’re out with friends, you’re sure to get them all fidgeting and scratching and pretty much agreeing that you’re a grade A asshole.

Nevertheless, poise is a highly desirable trait and one I’m sure you discerning readers are anxious to attain. So I’ve come up with three easy steps you can take to achieve poise, without pissing off any of your friends.

Today’s Saturday smile is a little different, as it’s not a recent happening but a memory.

Back when Husband was in seminary — let’s not say how far back, just know it was close to this century — I committed a small act of rebellion. Every year at Halloween, when we pull out the decorations, I am reminded of my rebel act, and I smile.

Seriously, I didn’t know. I mean, I kind of just drifted into this position, so I didn’t think about what it entailed. Anyway, I work in an office with about … Well, let’s see … How many employees? … One, two, three … there’s another around the corner … can’t forget the one up there … Oh hell. I don’t know. They all seem to be doing their job well enough, so I’m not going to worry about it.

But it occurred to me that at some point, one of them might leave and then we’d have an opening. If that should happen, and if one of you should apply for the position — obviously I’d give my dedicated readers first crack at it.

After all, if you are the fine, intelligent readers I take you to be, I have no doubt you can handle any job duty thrown at you. So these tips will give you an inside track on how to stay on my good side, once you get the job. You’re welcome.

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Hey there! I'm C.J., a tortured writer living in a small seaside cottage with my Malamute and 52 cats. Not really, but that's my dream. Why should you care? You shouldn't! You've got your own dreams. But if one of those dreams is finding a safe haven to unwind and have a chuckle or two, I hope Feeding on Folly becomes that place for you.